


I Am Not There

by Xenosangui



Series: Altered Destiny [2]
Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: Abuse, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Canon-Typical Violence, Childhood, Minor Violence, Slavery
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-29
Updated: 2017-08-29
Packaged: 2018-12-21 04:30:03
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11936340
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Xenosangui/pseuds/Xenosangui
Summary: At six years of age and captured by a ruthless slave trader, Arthur's troubles are only beginning. For the first time in his life, he is out of the castle, away from his father, and suddenly no one cares if he's royalty.





	I Am Not There

**Author's Note:**

> So...it's been a long time, but the second part of this has been sitting on my computer for a year. I suppose now is as good a time as any to finally post it.

Everything was a cacophony of sounds and unfamiliar smells when he finally managed to find his was to consciousness. At first, he couldn’t even think about opening his eyes—all he remembered was fear and pain and blood and hurt…it _hurt_.

And his father, standing like the king he was, protecting him.

Then it hurt again, but in his head, and everything had gotten cold and dark.

He wondered if this was what dead felt like.

He knew what _dead_ was. He was six, not stupid.  Dead meant you left behind everyone you left for cold, meaninglessness. Dead meant you could never go home. Dead meant they put your body in the ground and hoped you were happy in whatever came after. Dead meant gone.

But as he trudged to consciousness, his head nearly splitting in two as he did so, he couldn’t help but think that being dead couldn’t hurt this much.

Everything hurt. His arm, especially, since it kept pulsing angrily. Flames seemed to shoot down, from elbow to fingertips. His head hurt even more. It felt numb near the back, but the rest of his head felt like a runaway horse was stampeding through it.  An aching pain ran through the rest of his body. It felt a lot like the time he’d been playing with his toy sword and managed to hit his own leg with it, causing a huge black bruise that took ages to go away. Only, his leg didn’t hurt; his entire body did.

He nearly cried as the pain doubled. It was like his entire body was waking up and only just seemed to realize it was injured.  Perhaps he would have cried out, but then he remembered his father and one of the most recent lessons he’d gotten.

_“Kings and princes do not cry, Arthur. Especially in front of others. It is the ultimate weakness to cry in front or any man, or for any man, because he is just like any other. You will be great, son, but there are rules you must follow. No tears.”_

At the time, he’d agreed immediately. It made sense, then. Everything his father said made sense.

So instead of crying, he bit his lips and tried to force his eyelids open.

“Ahh, the child awakens.”

The voice sent shivers down Arthur spine and he nearly wanted to fall back to sleep. The man sounded nasty. No one had ever spoken to him like that before. They always bowed, smiled, and called him young sire.

He was a prince—didn’t these people know that?

Finally, after what felt like forever, he managed to pry his eyes open and blinked a few times, surprised by the darkness that still surrounded him. The only light that was in the small chamber was a candle about five feet away, sitting on the floor. It cast shadows everywhere, and made the only other people in the room, a coarse looking man, nearly invisible to him.

Arthur sat up abruptly, scrambling backwards towards the wall and belatedly noticed that he was only on a thin, moth-eaten blanket on the old, rotting floorboards. But the man was his first concern as he suddenly stalked forward.

The prince wanted to flee from the man, but he was backed into a corner and there was little he could do but curl up into himself and glare defiantly at the old man.

His anger only seemed to amuse the old man and he stepped even closer. The new position gave away a lot more about the man—his skin was pale and spot-covered. His eyes were a faded grey and his nose was offset slightly, as if it had been broken many times in the past. The man’s hair was nearly gone and his hands, Arthur noticed, were wrinkled and slim, each knuckle jutting out from beneath translucent skin.

Before Arthur could protest, the man’s hand shot out impossibly fast, grabbing his injured arm and pulling it harshly forward. An involuntary cry came from the young boy at the sudden, jarring movement. His arm suddenly burned and Arthur slumped, nearly passing out from the pain.

The old man chuckled, and twisted the arm a few times, “Hmm. I’d certainly say this is broken. Perhaps shattered by a blade.” He tisked, “Bringing a child to a place where he could get hurt—quite possibly the stupidest thing he’s done, yes.”

Arthur looked up, all feelings of weakness practically evaporating as he stared up at the sorcerer, incensed by the slight against his father, “My father—”

There was a stinging pain in his face, followed by another sharp, purposeful twist of his injured arm. Arthur raised his uninjured arm to his face as he gasped in pain. He’d never been slapped before, not by anyone. It was forbidden to touch a prince in such a manner.

“I don’t care, stupid boy. Do you even realize what you are now?” The man went back to inspecting his arm carefully.

Arthur scowled, but was careful not to anger the man again. His arm _hurt_. 

The man glanced up, his lips quirking into a savage smirk for a few moments. “Of course not.” He dropped the arm and Arthur pulled it to his chest, still staring at the man. He rustled around in his cloak for a few moments, before pulling out a vial of something that looked nothing like Gaius’ potions. It was a strange, sickly green and he could see something brown, like sludge, floating at the top.

Without another thought, Arthur set his jaw, refusing whatever the man was trying to force down his throat. “Stupid child.”

He clearly was without patience and plugged Arthur’s nose until the boy’s eyes watered and he was forced to open his mouth to gasp a breath. The potion was forced down his throat, his mouth kept closed by the old man’s strangely steady grip.

It was the most disgusting thing he’d ever tasted. It was worse than the things Gaius gave him by far and, as soon as the old man released his grip on him, Arthur retched violently, but nothing came up. For a few minutes, Arthur took shaky breaths, trembling as something wormed its way through his stomach and under his skin. It didn’t hurt, but it was uncomfortable…until it reached the wound on his arm.

He screamed then, as agony laced through the limb. His vision was blurry from both tears and pain, and he nearly didn’t see the strange white light that emitted from under the skin. It felt like it took forever for the light to fully fade, but it took the pain with it as it did. When he finally mustered the courage to look at his arm again, it was healed.

And the pain that seemed to encompass his entire body was completely gone.

The old man knelt then, yanking Arthur’s arm away again. He appeared to check it for injuries and Arthur was relieved to see that it didn’t hurt at all as the man maneuvered it every which way.

“Good, good.” The man was mumbling under his breath, “Perfectly healed. You would be worthless otherwise.”

Arthur flinched, anger coming back full force. He was a _prince_. He was far from worthless.  “Do you know—”

“ _Shut up_.” The tone was perhaps the most scathing yet and Arthur shrank backwards. But rather than hurting him, the old man only released his arm and scowled. “You are nothing now. It doesn’t matter who you once were. You are far from anywhere you called home. You are only good for making me money. You are a _slave_ , you stupid boy. You will live out the rest of your pathetic life belonging to someone else.”

The man stood and left, but not before taking the single candle with him. As the darkness completely surrounded him, Arthur finally noticed the bars surrounding him on every side.  He was in a cell.

And he, Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, was a slave.

“Father,” The boy whispered to the darkness as he pulled his legs up to his chest and buried his face in his knees. He refused to cry again, “Father, please come for me.”

 

(*)        (*)        (*)

 

No one came for him.

It was impossible to keep track of days and nights in the dark, windowless cell. He didn’t know how long he’d been asleep before he woken for the first time either, but he was pretty sure it had been awhile.  There was very little he could do but sit in the corner, eat what little food they provided him every once in a while, and wait for his father to rescue him.

His father was Uther Pendragon, king of Camelot. He took down sorcerers and slayed dragons. There was nothing he couldn’t do.

His father would come for him soon. He had to.

The door to his cell opened and light flooded in, nearly blinding the child. He raised a hand to his face, but was only able to make out a blurry shaped, before it roughly yanked him forward, snapping and locking a set of heavy manacles over his small wrists. They were clearly designed for children, but he could barely hold his hands up anyway.  

His eyes still hadn’t adjusted when the hazy figure led his to a group of several others. There were four of them—one was a woman, but that was all he could make out. It took a few more moments, but he finally could see clearly. One of them was the same man who’d been in his cell the first day, but the other two men and the woman were completely unrecognizable.

It took his a few moments more to realize that they were talking about him.

The woman was speaking, her eyes never leaving Arthur’s slight frame, “He looks like he’s been starved. Do you expect me to pay full price for this?”

“He may not look like much, but he comes from good stock. A family of people who know how to handle their swords, if his father’s fighting is to be trusted.” The old man was bragging.

Arthur winced as he realized that they were haggling over what he was worth to them. He felt sick. For the first time, he remembered that he didn’t even know if his father survived the attack.

The woman huffed, and waved away the statement, “Oh, please, Govrau. As if I would trust a word from your mouth.”

“Even so,” The old man—Govrau— smiled widely, showing off his many missing teeth, “I have sold you good slaves before, yes? Some of your best. You cannot deny that.”

One of the other men snorted, rolling his eyes, “That is our doing, not yours. We—”

“Aglain, he’s a harmless old man. Don’t fight with him.” The woman, clearly the leader despite being a woman, smirked and leaned down until she was nearly level with Arthur’s face. “What say you, boy?”

She was mocking him, but he didn’t rise to the bait. Even if these people didn’t know it, he was a prince. He refused to back down again, and jutted out his chin in defiance, hate simmering in his eyes. Had his hands not been chained, he would have crossed his arms as well.

But this only seemed to amuse the woman. She stood to her full height, a maniac laughter dancing in his brown eyes. “Ooh, a spark. You never give me ones with spark. I’m used to the browbeaten ones you keep sending my way, not this little devil.”

“Well,” Govrau shrugged, looking much too pleased. Arthur wanted to sink into the floor at the _looks_ they were all suddenly giving him, “You keep asking me for children. I cannot help it if they are all little cowards. This is a rare one, I’ll give you that. And I’m giving you first preference. If you do not want him for the price I’ve given you. I have plenty of other buyers lined up who are willing.”

“No, no, don’t be silly. Aglain, pay the man so we can be on our way.” The woman stepped forward, her fingers wrapping around Arthur shoulder possessively. Arthur hissed and went to yank away, but one of the other men merely reached for him instead, and slung him over his own shoulder.

“No!” Arthur shouted, throwing himself backwards. The man didn’t seem to be expecting the sudden struggle and Arthur managed to fall to the ground. Unfortunately, it was a longer fall and it managed to push the air out of his lungs. He couldn’t move for a few moments out of shock alone and by the time he could finally gather his wits enough to attempt to scramble away, the man was already slinging his over his shoulder again, this time much more securely.

“So spirited.” She murmured. From the corner of his eye, Arthur saw the man pocketing some coin. Anger burned deep within him at the thought of being bought and sold like a pig or a piece of bread at the market. He was a person. A _prince_. 

Before he could struggle again, something hit him hard on the back on the head and he slumped forward, once more leaving the world behind for the peace of complete darkness

(*)        (*)        (*)

 

When he woke up again, he was rocking back and forth in a cage loaded on a small cart. His hands were still shackled, but now they were firmly attached to one of the cage bars. He tested the strength of the bars, pulling against them with all his might, but he was young and not very strong. Still, he panicked, throwing his shoulders back in an attempt to yank his hands free.

“ ’S no good, kid.”

Arthur jumped, finally looking around log enough to notice that he wasn’t alone in the cart. In fact, there were six others—three girls who all looked older than him and three boys. At least one of the boys was his own age, but none of the other children in the cart were over ten or eleven.

His eyes turned to the boy who spoke. He looked to be the oldest there and Arthur could see that the kid’s wrists were already bloodied from trying the same thing Arthur had been doing.

“I don’t understand.” The boy—the one around Arthur’s age—half-sobbed.

The older boy only sighed and leaned his head back against the bars. “ ’S no use crying over it anyway.” Then the boy opened one eye and looked meaningfully at Arthur, “If you’re gonna cry, can ya do it quietly, unlike this one.” He motioned towards the other boy with his head, looking tired.

Arthur blinked a few times. How could he look so bored?

One of the older girls, probably around the other boy’s age, clearly had the same thought as Arthur, “That’s mean.”

“Don’t care.” Said the boy, completely unaffected by the glares that every sent him.

“Why not?” The girl confronted. It looked like she wanted to come across the cage at him. “You’re a s-slave too.” She blinked a few times, as if chasing away tears. Arthur leaned forward curiously. All the girls he’d ever known had cried over everything, but this one wasn’t.

The boy sighed again, “Not gonna change anything, caring in’nt? Been a slave for s’long as I can remember. Been sold mo’ times than I can count. S’not a big deal anymore, s’ all.”

The girl looked taken aback and Arthur’s eyes widened. He didn’t know any slaves—they were banned in Camelot, after all—but he wondered what it was like to know nothing but being a slave. He knew that slavery meant you weren’t human anymore—was that why the boy didn’t care?

That was almost…sad.

“I'm—”

“Don’ say you’re sorry.” The boy spat back, with a fire that Arthur hadn’t seen in the boy before. “All I get is sorry. Everywhere. But no one does anything. So s’ stupid t’ say. So don’t.

The girl set her jaw and turned away. Rather than continue talking to the boy anymore, Arthur watched as she pulled the small girl—who must have been only four—next to her close. They had the same hair and their faces looked so similar that Arthur knew they must be related. Sisters, probably.  

The rest of the short journey was spent quietly. The one boy’s sobs and the occasional whisper from the older girl to the young girl were the only sounds that pierced the quiet air that settled around them. Arthur only sat against the bars, mystified. Why hadn’t his father come for him yet?

He cart pulled to an abrupt stop outside a massive building that wasn’t quite a castle. It looked a lot like a fortress, with high, nearly impenetrable walls and guard towers at every corner, but there was nothing visible being the walls from where Arthur sat. The grass surrounding the fortress was dead, and the sky was turning grey as thunder suddenly rumbled in the distance.

“Perfect.” Arthur mumbled, glaring at the sky.

They didn’t have to wait very long before the door at the back of the cage was thrown open. It was one of the men who’d been there when he was bought—the one named Aglain. The surveyed the children in the cart shortly, before pulling the one closest to the door along with him. It was the small, four year old girl and she screamed as she was pulled from her sister’s arms. He desperate wails were agony and Arthur put his palms against his ears to block out the cries of the two sisters as they were pulled from one another. The man managed to yank them apart, then closed and latched the cage behind him. From where Arthur sat, he could see him drag the fighting child through a large door at the front of the fortress.

Then there was silence.

Over the course of an hour, Arthur watched as the children were dragged out one by one. The reactions were different from each person, but he couldn’t watch as any of them were taken away. He knew he would be last—he was farthest from the door after all.

Would he ever see any of them again?

When he was finally dragged from the cast, a large hand holding his arm in its bruising grip, he yanked backwards. This was the time to fight—if they got him inside the fortress, he would never get out.

Not for a very long time.

He felt that deep inside him.

But he was a child and the man was clearly used to working with difficult children and only rolled his eyes at the boy’s useless antics. Eventually, it became annoying and he glared at the boy, “I am not afraid to kill you, little boy.” He tightened his grip, his fingernails digging into the kid’s soft skin.

Arthur fought against the grip, but this time it was because of the pain the shot up his arm.

He was jerked forward through the door and watched it slam closed behind them. It was only then that the hand loosened to its former grip. Arthur fought weakly at that point, but was completely quelled when he noticed how many people were with them now—and every one of them looked like they wouldn’t hesitate to crush him.

They took several turns, but Arthur lost track after the first six or so and he trained his eyes on the ground instead, trying to figure out how to get out of this. Maybe they just didn’t know he was a prince?

But what if they hated princes?

His father told him about people like that. There were sorcerers and assassins and jealous family who would kill princes and kings to get what they wanted. What if these people were like that?

They stopped in front of a door. Arthur frowned—it looked like every other door they passed on the way here, but the man merely opened it, threw Arthur into a rough heap on the floor, then slammed in closed again. Arthur finally untangled his limbs and managed to struggle to a rough standing position, then jumped backwards when he realized that he still wasn’t alone.

It was the woman—the same one who had been there when he was—

When—

No.

He avoided her eyes, not wanting her to see his fear. He wasn’t used to these types of feelings. He was supposed to be strong.

But he wanted nothing more than to curl up in a bed and cry.

“I wanted to talk to you personally. I don’t normally do this. I’m the business person in this deal, you see.”

Arthur really didn’t, but he merely kept his eyes on the wall behind her, not saying a word.  

“Oh, lost your spark already?” She sounded—disappointed? Arthur’s stomach twisted at that realization. Everything about this woman made him feel sick to his stomach. “Such a pity. I paid good coin for that.”

Arthur spat at her feet, remembering when he’d seen a knight do the same to another after being insulted.

It was the wrong thing to do.

Her face twisted in disgust and her hand flew out, hitting his sharply across his cheek. Arthur blinked a few times, slowly, and reached up to feel the blood that was dripping down his cheek. “That,” She snarled, “was very stupid.”

“I hate you.” Arthur finally said, surprised at how raspy his voice came out. It sounded like he hadn’t had anything to drink in a year.

“Oh darling.” The woman was laughing now—laughing—and Arthur’s head shot up, confusion drawing his eyebrows together. There was no telling what would make her happy and what would anger her—her moods changed faster than Arthur could keep up. “I hardly care about your precious little feelings.”

The woman walked slowly around him, like a predator would stalk its prey. She circled and Arthur itched to trip her, but there was no telling what she would do if he tried. “Your new clothes are in the corner. Take care of them. They are all you have now. 

Arthur cast a glance down at his own clothes, but they were full of holes and so dirty that they would be easy to confuse with the clothes of any other peasant. He didn’t want to give up the clothes—they were his—but they were useless now.

She smirked at him, looking him up and down, “You could grow into strength, I suppose. Sometimes I wonder if that man makes a living off of conning me. I assume you have no talent for magic.” Arthur shrank away from that question. Magic. He hated magic. She seemed to read that in his expression, and she laughed again. “Oh, this could be amusing. You are a slave now, boy. You have no name, no rights, no standing, and no future other than whatever future I lay in front of you.

“I am Yaena, but you will call me mistress. I am my lady to all those below me and that includes you. Your duties are to be…entertainment of sorts.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, trying to piece together her words, but his head was still hurting and he could barely think, let alone understand.

“I run everything around here. I choose what you will do and who you will be. You have no room to…dislike magic so I suggest you get over it if you want to survive the night.”

Arthur crossed his eyes, glaring at the woman. He didn’t say a word, but the words he wanted to say were clear. _I won’t._

The smile, as terrible as it was, finally dropped from her face. She suddenly looked more menacing, if that was possible, “Unfortunately for you, magic will be the only thing which can keep alive, you stupid boy. So I suggest you _get over it.”_

He was barely allowed to change into the supplied outfit—his old ones were taken and burned, he suspected—when the same man who dragged him there dragged him back. They took several more turns, during down narrow hallways that clearly got older as they went farther and farther into the compound. The lights were spaced farther apart, darkness seeping in. The air was heavy with moisture and it was cold. Everything began to look dilapidated and he shivered. The only thing that kept him from wrapping his arms around himself to conserve warmth was the hand that gripped his shoulder, pulling him along.

They passed door after door, but these ones looked heavy and had large locks that Arthur had only seen on cells before. It was only after an endless amount of walking that they finally came to a stop in front of one that looked identical to the other’s they had already passed. Arthur tensed, watching the man pull out a ring of keys that turned his stomach.

Moments later, the door creaked open and Arthur found himself thrown onto a hard stone floor, the door slamming loudly closed behind him. He didn’t move at first—he couldn’t. Arthur blinked a few times, not sure what was happening with his life.

Not even a week before, he was a prince in a castle with his own servants. Now he was in a completely unfamiliar place and the people were calling him a slave.

Taking a deep, breath, he pushed himself to his feet and winced when one of his knees throbbed at the sudden weight. It took him a minute to situate himself and ignore the minor pangs throughout body, so when he finally looked up he nearly jumped when he saw another boy staring back at him.

The room was dark. The only lighting was the natural lighting that streamed into the room through a small, barred window that Arthur was too short to see out of. What he could see was the faint outline of a boy and the bright, vibrant blue eyes that looked at him without even the faintest amount of shock at his presence.

The boy was younger than him—probably by a few years—but he was gangly and rather tall for his age. His face and eyes were young, even if there was a haunted look in them.

“Hello?” Arthur said, somewhat cautious. He wasn’t really in the mood to be yelled at again and he really didn’t like staying in rooms with people he didn’t know. But the boy stayed completely silent. The only clue that he even heard Arthur speaking to him was the brief flicker of the kid's eyes to his face, before they settled on a point somewhere just behind Arthur. 

He had no idea where he was, nor did he know why he was there. But if there was one thing he was certain of, it was that he was Arthur Pendragon.

And no one could change that, no matter how many shackles they placed around his wrists.


End file.
